Monday, December 17, 2012

Nestled
between the bright fluorescently lit branch of Staples on one side and a small,
inviting wine shop on the other, Westsider Books (westsiderbooks.com) would be
easy for a casual passerby to overlook. As a neighborhood resident, I’ve come
to appreciate its stalwart presence. With hundreds of books crammed into a
shoebox-sized space—the realtor two doors down might praise it’s creative use
of built-ins—Westsider Books has outlasted the demise of Shakespeare and Company
across the street, the arrival of the Barnes & Noble at 82nd
Street and Broadway, and the rise and fall of the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln
Center.

Now
thanks to director/writer/actor Woody Allen, the store will be immortalized in
film as M. Schwartz and Sons, a
dealer in rare and used books.

Here’s
what the store usually looks like.

Westsider Books on Broadway.

To
see how it was transformed for the movie, take a look at this picture that
originally appeared in Westside Rag, a neighborhood blog where Ms. Stacked-NYC is
an occasional contributor. The Westside Rag article also offers details about the film, which stars Mr.
Allen, John Tuturro, Sofia Vergara, and Sharon Stone.

I’ve
enjoyed most of Mr. Allen’s films the first time around—and am looking at some
of his earlier work through the fresh eyes of Miss Stacked-NYC.com.But his writing is equally interesting to me,
and, I think in some cases, more consistently funny. My introduction to his
written work was Without Feathers. My
favorite piece was The Whore of Mensa,
in which an unhappily married man pays for what he can’t get at home:
conversation about literature and philosophy. Of course, this being Mr. Allen,
the arrangement has a down side, our protagonist ends up being blackmailed by
the “madam”.

Incidentally,
if you’d like to know what Woody Allen’s favorite five books are, they’re
listed in a 2011 article that appeared in the British newspaper, The Guardian.

*
Long ago and far away—in high school, to be exact, my good friend G (who had a
sharp sense of humor of her own) and I used to laugh hysterically at lines like
these culled from Woody Allen's work. With observations from the absurd to the
self-indulgent to the poignant, Mr. Allen still makes me laugh.